


A Hero

by battlebucky



Series: Recuperation [1]
Category: Captain America, Marvel, The Avengers
Genre: Amnesiac Character, Disabled Character(s), Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Multi, Other, amputee character(s), i have soft spot for Jewish Bucky, implied Muslim character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battlebucky/pseuds/battlebucky
Summary: He gets stopped by a tug on his sleeve. Turning around to look, it’s the girl from earlier. She barely even comes up to his hip, and she’s got this blue scarf around her head, a hijab, and she has to crane her head all the way back just to look at him. The hand that tugged him isn’t even flesh, he realizes, it’s a prosthetic. He feels his heart jump into his throat, and his stomach drop to his feet. Why is a child having to know what it feels like to lost a limb? She’s probably much stronger than he is.He gets snapped out of his thoughts when dark eyes meet blue ones and he gets down to one knee.“Hello.” He whispers to her.“Hi,” she says even quieter. “I just wanted to say… Mister, you’re my hero.”





	A Hero

He’d been found. Tony had not wanted him to come back to the facility with them, but Steve (and Sam, although begrudgingly) had insisted. He’s got a new therapist, and yeah, maybe he needs to call and tell her about his nightmares more often, but she’s nice and doesn’t interrupt him and sometimes lets him listen to music instead of getting into the heavy stuff. He really, _really _needs to thank Sam for making him go.__  
It takes him almost a year to be cleared to go on missions. Never talking during training, only sighs when his soviet arm locks up, _the damn thing _, and Steve has to calm him down before he can even realize that he’s working himself up. T’Challa makes him skip training three days in a row so he can make him a new arm. It damn near makes Bucky cry, and he gives the first hug he’s given in over seventy years.__  
It’s golden in between the plates and it’s not heavy. It doesn’t weigh him down like some kind of burden anymore. He feels free, like he can help. There’s no more tentacles wrapping around the infernal arm that he didn’t even get a choice in getting. He earned this new arm. It makes his heart hurt a little when Tony says he likes the way it makes him look less like a murderer and more like a victim. At least he’s trying.  
But, the first time he goes on a mission alone, he’s in the most inconspicuous outfit he could manage: hoodie, jacket, jeans, gloves, and a baseball cap. His hair has grown out to his shoulders, and he looks so much healthier than when he was last in public by himself. The target ends up not being where intel said she was going to be, not even in the vicinity of where she was supposed to be. Maria had the new STRIKE team (all composed of new officers that stayed with SHIELD after it fell) scour the east side of New York, but Maria said he needed a break.  
_“All you’ve been doing is training or are on group missions, Barnes. Go get some ice cream or something.” ___  
“Fine. Any recommendations?”  
_“I don’t get out any more than you do. Try and get back before 1800, okay sergeant? _”__  
“Got it. Barnes, over and out.”  
He just wanders until he spots something familiar. The sign has changed, the owners look younger, and it’s next to a Muslim meat factory now, but the smell is the same. Bucky just feels drawn to it, like he’s not in the middle of New York City in a new time, like it’s 1940 again and there are no worries.  
The bakery still has the Star of David for the door handle, and the feeling of holding onto it and pulling that door open sends a shock of electricity up his flesh hand. He feels giddy as hell and the smell of nostalgia is what finally sends him rushing in.  
There aren’t that many people inside, but a young waitress is behind the counter with an older man making pastries and breads and desserts. He goes up to the counter and looks behind the glass and the words just won’t come to him. He can’t remember the name of any of these things, _why can’t I remember- ___  
“Would you like one of them?” It’s the young women, face cheery and the Star hanging around her neck.  
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Yes, please.”  
“Anything in particular? We have some specials in desserts and pastries if you would like to try them.”  
“Yeah, just surprise me, I guess?” he mumbles. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the door open, a small girl come in with one of those little red wagons.  
“Wonderful. Pick a seat anywhere and I will bring it to you!” She’s so cheery and it makes his guts twist up inside, she doesn’t know who he is or what he’s done, _he’s a monster- ___  
He gets stopped by a tug on his sleeve. Turning around to look, it’s the girl from earlier. She barely even comes up to his hip, and she’s got this blue scarf around her head, a hijab, and she has to crane her head all the way back just to look at him. The hand that tugged him isn’t even flesh, he realizes, it’s a prosthetic. He feels his heart jump into his throat, and his stomach drop to his feet. Why is a child having to know what it feels like to lost a limb? She’s probably much stronger than he is.  
He gets snapped out of his thoughts when dark eyes meet blue ones and he gets down to one knee.  
“Hello.” He whispers to her.  
“Hi,” she says even quieter. “I just wanted to say… Mister, you’re my hero.”  
His face immediately feels on fire. _Hero? _He thinks, does this girl know what a hero is? But before he can even try to argue, he’s crying and she puts her arms over her shoulders.__  
“I’m sorry Mister… you’re just so strong and we both got hurt.”  
_I’m sorry. _When was the last time anyone had said that to him? He was always the one apologizing, to Tony for everything, to Steve for his nightmares, to Bruce for knocking over one of his beakers, to Natasha and Clint for skipping on dinner. But when was the last time he was told those two words?__  
“Don’t apologize, kid. What’s your name?” he flashes a crooked smile and she immediately returns it.  
“Salma,” she smiles even harder. “And you’re Mister Barnes?”  
“Bucky. You can call me Bucky, Salma.”  
The way she looks like she’s been bestowed with some incredible honor makes him melt. Not the way that he feels when Steve reminds him of his love, not when Bruce reminds him that he really IS recovering. None of that. He feels _important. ___  
“Say, do you want to try this new dessert with me?”  
She nods and he stands up, her prosthetic hand slipping into his metal one, and they walk over to the counter together.  
“Can my friend Salma get the same thing that I am having, please?”  
“Of course! It’s free, by the way. Her father owns the shop next to us. A trade of favors, I guess you could call it. They’ll be right out.”  
Salma tugs Bucky to a table near the window, hopping into it as Bucky slides into the seat across from her.  
The young woman brings their desserts, and they both grin at each other before scarfing it down as fast as they can. Salma giggles, making Bucky’s chest feel so light and his heart so big.  
“Bucky, you have cream on your face!”  
“Really? I don’t see it!” He crosses his eyes, making the kid laugh even harder. The waitress walks over, holding a polaroid in her hands and a smile on her face.  
“You guys look like you’re having a blast. Do you guys want a picture of it?”  
Bucky looks to Salma, who’s smiling so hard her face should be splitting. His face softens, and he turns back to the waitress.  
“Yes. Yes, please.”  
The woman snaps the picture, the two of them cheesing so hard, Bucky with cream on his lip, and the two of them looking the happiest they could ever be.

__________________No one asks Bucky about his good mood when he gets home, or why there is a picture of him and a girl stuck on the fridge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i just really have a soft spot for Jewish Bucky and he deserves to be told he's someone's hero.


End file.
